‘Skip the flattery and let’s have the cash,’ Kane said.
Skiros produced a bulging wallet and proceeded to count out hundred-dollar bills. His hands were sweating, and he placed each bill reluctantly upon the table. When he had reached twenty, he paused, then added five more. ‘There you are, my friend,’ he said. ‘We agreed on two thousand, but I give you a bonus of five hundred dollars. Let no man say Skiros does not reward good service.’
Kane swept the bills into the table drawer. ‘You old spider. You know damned well, most of it will come back to you, either over the bar at your hotel or across the gambling tables.’
Skiros laughed again, his face crinkling so that the eyes almost disappeared, and pushed himself to his feet. ‘Now I must go.’ He moved to the door and then paused. ‘But I am forgetting some important news.’ He turned slowly. ‘A woman came in from Aden on the boat this afternoon. An American named Cunningham – Mrs Ruth Cunningham. Extremely pretty. She has been asking for you.’
Kane stiffened, a surprised frown crossing his face. ‘I don’t know anyone called Cunningham.’
Skiros shrugged. ‘She appears to know you, or to know of you at least. She is staying at my hotel. I told her I would be seeing you, and she asked me to give you a message. She would like you to come to the hotel. She said it was most important.’
Kane still frowned down at the table, leaning forward, his weight on his hands. After a slight pause Skiros said, ‘You will come?’
Kane straightened up and nodded. ‘Sure, I’ll come. I’ll be there some time this evening.’
Skiros nodded. ‘Good, I shall tell her.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t look so worried. Perhaps she is only a tourist. Maybe she wishes to charter your boat to go spear-fishing along the reef.’
Kane nodded slowly. ‘Yes, you’re probably right.’ But he didn’t believe that was the reason – not for a moment – and, after Skiros had gone, he went back to the bunk and lay staring at the ceiling, groping back into the past, trying to place Ruth Cunningham. But it was no good. The name meant nothing to him.
He glanced at his watch. It was just after three, and for a little while longer he lay there; then, with a sigh of exasperation, he swung his legs to the floor and started to dress.
He pulled on his faded denims and a sweat-shirt and went up on deck. Piroo was lounging against the rail, head bowed against his chest so that only the top of his white turban was visible. Kane stirred him slightly with one foot, and the Hindu came awake at once and rose easily to his feet. ‘I’m going ashore,’ Kane said. ‘What about you?’
Piroo shrugged. ‘I think not, Sahib. Later, perhaps. I will row you across to the jetty and then return with the dinghy. It would be wiser. Selim might return.’
Kane nodded. ‘Maybe you’ve got a point. If he does, you’ll find my Colt underneath the pillow. Don’t hesitate to use it. I’ve got more friends round here than he has.’
He dropped over the side into the dinghy, and Piroo took the oars and pulled rapidly towards the crumbling stone jetty. When they reached it, Kane stepped on to the iron ladder and climbed it quickly. As his eyes drew level with the top of the jetty, he saw a woman sitting on a large stone a few feet away, watching him.
He moved forward and she got to her feet and came to meet him. She was dressed in an expensive white linen dress, a blue silk scarf was bound round her head, peasant-fashion, and she wore sunglasses.
When she removed them, he recognized her at once as the woman he had met on the Kantara the previous night.
She smiled uncertainly, and there was puzzlement in her voice. ‘You again! But I was looking for Captain Kane – Captain Gavin Kane.’
‘That’s me,’ he said. ‘You’ll be Mrs Cunningham. What can I do for you?’
She frowned and shook her head in bewilderment. ‘Mr Andrews, the American Consul in Aden, advised me to look you up. He told me you were an archaeologist. That you were an expert on Southern Arabia.’
He smiled slightly. ‘I presume, you mean I don’t look the part. Andrews was right on both counts. I am an archaeologist among other things, and I do know something about Southern Arabia. In what way can I help you?’
She stared out over the harbour, a slight frown on her face, and then she turned and looked at him coolly from steady grey eyes. ‘I want you to find my husband, and I’m willing to pay highly for your services.’
He reached for a cigarette and lit it slowly. ‘How high?’
She shrugged and said calmly. ‘Five thousand dollars now and another five when, and if, you find him.’
For several moments they stood looking at each other and then he sighed. ‘Let’s discuss this over a cold drink. I know just the place.’ And he took her arm, and they went along the jetty to the waterfront.
5
They didn’t talk much on the way to the hotel. Ruth Cunningham replaced her sunglasses and gazed about her with obvious interest, and Kane employed the time in studying her.
As they turned off the jetty and moved along the waterfront, he decided that Skiros had been wrong. She was not pretty – she was beautiful. The long slim lines of her were revealed to perfection by the simple linen dress as she walked. It had been a long time since he had talked to a woman like her – to a woman of his own kind.
The hotel was a tall, slender building with a crumbling façade and one narrow entrance that fronted on to the street. Inside, an ancient fan slowly revolved in the stifling heat, and he led the way across the entrance hall and into the bar.
There was no one there and the French windows which gave access to the terrace outside, creaked in the slight breeze from the harbour. Ruth Cunningham removed her sun glasses and frowned.
‘Isn’t there any service in this place?’
Kane shrugged. ‘There isn’t a great deal of action around here. Most people sleep during the afternoon. They figure it’s too hot to do anything else.’
She smiled. ‘Well, they say travel broadens the mind.’
He went behind the bar. ‘Why don’t you go and sit on the terrace while I get you a drink? There’s a wind coming in from the sea. You might find it a little cooler.’
She nodded, walked out through the French windows and sat down in a large cane chair shaded by a gaudy umbrella. Kane opened the ancient icebox that stood under the bar and took out two large bottles of lager, so cold the moisture had frosted on the outside. He knocked off the caps on the edge of the zinc-topped bar, poured the contents into two tall, thin glasses and went out to the terrace.
She smiled up at him gratefully when he handed her the glass, and quickly swallowed some of the beer. She sighed. ‘I’d forgotten anything could be so cold. This place is like a furnace. Frankly, I can’t imagine anyone living here from choice.’
He offered her a cigarette. ‘Oh, it has its points.’
She smiled slightly. ‘I’m afraid they’ve escaped me so far.’
She leaned back against the faded cushions of her chair. ‘Mr Andrews told me you were from New York. That you were a lecturer in archaeology at Columbia.’
He nodded. ‘That was a long time ago.’
She said casually, ‘Are you married?’
He shrugged. ‘Divorced. My wife and I never hit it off.’
Ruth Cunningham flushed. ‘I’m sorry I brought it up. I hope I haven’t upset you?’
‘On